In the afternoon we pa.s.sed Knoxville, and were glad to keep right on.

Then came the town of Greenville, the home of our former companion, the heroic Captain Fry. About nightfall we reached the Virginia line, and ran steadily on. It was a beautiful night; the moon shone over the pale, frosty hills with a mellow radiance which made the whole landscape enchanting. The shifting scenes of mountain, stream, or ghostly wood seemed to me like a panorama of human life. The morning dawned upon us, still steaming slowly through the romantic valleys of Virginia.

The next day was wet and dreary. Our car leaked, our fire went out, and we were thoroughly uncomfortable. By evening we had reached the mountain city of Lynchburg, and discovered that we had missed the railroad connection. This led to a delay of twenty-four hours, which we greatly regretted, being very anxious to get speedily through to our own lines.

We had all our plans laid for the happy day of our arrival at Washington.

We were quartered in a large bare room belonging to the barracks, where some of the worst criminals of the Confederacy were also confined. There was a great stove in the centre of the room, but, as no fire was put in it, we had to endure another night of dampness and cold. The only consolation was found in the thought that we would not have many more such nights to spend before reaching home. I paced the floor till nearly morning, and saw a good many amusing incidents. Many of the rebels were drunk and disposed to mischief. One man diverted himself by walking around the room on the forms of those who were trying to sleep. In his round he stepped on Bensinger,--one of our party. The infliction was patiently endured the first time, but as the sot came again, Bensinger was on the lookout, and, springing to his feet, gave him a blow that stretched him out on the floor. Some of his companions rushed forward to resent the just punishment, but Bensinger's friends also were prepared, and there was a good prospect of a general fray. But, as soon as the ruffians understood the position, they retired to their own side of the room.

In the raw and chill morning I found here some of the most virulent enemies of the Union I had yet seen. A prisoner loudly declared that no quarter ought to be given in the war,--said that he had advocated raising the black flag from the first, a.s.serting that "if it had been raised the war would have been over long since."

"No doubt of it," I replied. "In that case the whole Southern race would have been exterminated long before this."

That mode of ending the war had not entered his mind, and he did not appear pleased with the suggestion.

A little before dark the next evening we again started, and now had good, comfortable cars,--the best we had enjoyed on the route. But we only ran a short distance to the junction, where we had to leave them and wait the arrival of another train. Here was the best chance of escape we had yet found. The night was pitchy dark, and so cold that the guards built a great fire on the border of a strip of woodland, and allowed us to help in gathering withered sticks to replenish it. They scarcely appeared to notice us, and all that was necessary for escape was to give the word and run for it. Nothing held us but the absolute confidence of a speedy exchange, and, depending upon that, the golden opportunity was neglected. Of course, the perils and hardships of wandering through the Virginia mountains in the depth of winter would have been severe, but the start would have been mere child's play. Oh!

how bitterly we afterwards regretted that we had not darted into the depths of the forest and sought to effect our own exchange!

CHAPTER XX.

LIBBY AND CASTLE THUNDER.

In a few hours the train for which we waited arrived, and, pa.s.sing onward without further noticeable events, long before morning we were in Richmond. There was the same intense and piercing cold which had been the main element in our suffering during this journey, but the sky was clear, and the rebel capital was distinctly seen in the sparkling moonlight. Everything looked grim and silent through the frosty air, and our teeth chattered fast and loud as we walked up a street of the sleeping city.

But the sergeant in command of our party did not know what to do with us. We hoped that some arrangements had been made for forwarding us directly to City Point, the place of exchange, so that we might that very day behold once more the stars and stripes. Yet we knew it was more probable that some detention would occur. The sergeant left us where we were while he started in search of the provost-marshal's office for instructions. We endeavored to shelter ourselves as best we could from the unbearable cold, which really threatened to prove fatal. Two pieces of ragged carpet were all the protection we had, in addition to our well-worn summer clothing, and we spread these over our heads as we huddled together in a solid ma.s.s in the angle of a brick wall. It was astonishing what a relief this afforded,--especially to those who were in the inside of the _pack_, where I happened to be. Here we shivered till the sergeant returned. He had found the headquarters of the prison department and conducted us thither.

Several streets were threaded in the moonlight, and when the office was reached, to add to our discomfort, it was dest.i.tute of fire. We stood in the empty room, looking at the grim portraits of rebel generals for an hour or two, until the marshal entered. He did not deign to speak to us, but broke open a sealed letter Sergeant White handed him and read aloud that ten disloyal Tennesseeans, four prisoners of war, and _six engine thieves_ were hereby forwarded to Richmond by order of General Beauregard. The old name applied to us was no small shock. We had hoped that the t.i.tle of "engine thieves" had been left behind, and that from henceforth we would be only called "prisoners of war." But we still trusted to be soon beyond their lines, and it would make no real difference what name they exchanged us under. The marshal then gave his orders, and we were conducted onward.

By this time it was daylight, December 7, 1862. Richmond looked still more cheerless in the cold morning than in the moonlight.

A long march through a number of streets brought us to the banks of the James River, where we halted in front of a most desolate-looking but very large brick building, situated near the water, and surrounded by a formidable circle of guards. This we supposed to be a prison, and soon learned that we were right. It was the famous LIBBY.

We entered, were conducted up a flight of steps, and reached a vast, open room, where we saw, almost for the first time since our capture, the old, familiar United States uniform, and were soon in the midst of over a hundred United States soldiers.

Our greeting at first was not very friendly, as we still wore the ragged clothing that had served us all summer; but as soon as our true character and history were known, a most cordial welcome was extended.

There was only one small stove in the cold, empty room, around which part of the inmates were huddled. But with the characteristic courtesy and chivalry of the American soldier they cleared a place beside it for us. When I got warm I had leisure to look around.

The prospect was not very cheerful. Above, the floor had been taken out, leaving only the rafters between us and the roof. The window-sashes were all removed, and the cold wind whistled in from the river far more sharply than was consistent with comfort. Only a very scanty amount of fuel was allowed per day, and when that was exhausted they had to endure the freezing as best they could. The room was too large and open to be warmed throughout, and only a few could gather around the stove. The food was neither better nor worse than in other Southern prisons.

Probably among all the prisoners, past and present, we were the only ones who were glad to be there. We regarded it as the sure pledge that our foes had not deceived us in their promise of an exchange, for these men, with whom we found ourselves, were actually going northward on the next truce-boat, which was daily expected. What mattered the cold wind or the bare floor with such a hope? We felt that we were no longer held as criminals, but were now in the common prison, with other soldiers, sure that the day of final release could not be far off. What wonder if our joy was too deep for words, and we could only turn it over in our minds, and tremble lest it should prove too delightful to be realized?

The vision of freedom was so warm and vivid that all hardships were forgotten.

It was also very agreeable to talk with our comrades who had recently been captured, and get news of the progress of the war from a Federal stand-point. All the intelligence we had obtained for a long period came colored by Southern prejudices. In such communion with friends who were still confident of success in the great conflict the time pa.s.sed rapidly.

But in the midst of our conversation, probably two hours after our entrance, an officer came to the door and called for the men who had just been admitted. Every one in the room but ourselves had taken the customary oath of parole, not to serve against the Confederacy until regularly exchanged; and supposing that omission in our case was about to be supplied, we gladly responded. The guard led us down to the entrance hall and called over our names. The four prisoners of war who had come from Atlanta with us were sent up-stairs again, while we were turned into an immense, but dark and low, room on the left of the stairway and the door locked behind us.

This was an awful moment. The full meaning of this separation burst upon us. We had been taken away from those who were to be exchanged and put in a room reserved for those regarded as criminals. We had been bitterly deceived, and our hopes at once fell from the highest heaven to which they had soared. A cold sense of misery and despair came over us. No wonder we looked at each other with pale, troubled countenances in the dim light, and asked questions none were prepared to solve.

But for one moment only were we thus crushed; the next we eagerly sought an avenue for hope. Perhaps they did not choose to recognize us as soldiers, and merely wished to exchange us as civilians,--a matter of perfect indifference to us, provided we were exchanged at all. We looked around to see what foundation we could build on for this pleasant conjecture.

Our present apartment contained even more prisoners than that up-stairs.

They were not Northern soldiers, but were from all parts of the South.

Some of them had been in prison ever since the war broke out, while a few had been arrested for supposed anti-slavery sentiments even before that event, and had lived in loathsome dungeons ever since. There had been a reign of terror in the Southern States preceding the war, as well as after the opening of the contest, which differed from the similar terror in the French revolution mainly in being less theatrical, and in striking humbler victims. A few Northern soldiers were here who had been put in for attempting to escape or for other breaches of prison discipline. Every man in the room had some kind of "a charge" against him. These facts were not calculated to strengthen hopes of exchange, or even weaken fears of further punishment.

In the mean time breakfast was brought in. It consisted of a small quant.i.ty of thin soup and a very scanty allowance of bread. To our delight the latter was made of wheat flour instead of corn-meal; and all the time we remained in Richmond we received good bread, though it was very deficient in quant.i.ty.

While we were talking with our new room-mates an officer again entered, and inquired for the men who had last come in. We responded promptly, for hope was again whispering in our hearts that probably there had been some mistake, which would now be rectified, and we be taken up-stairs again. But no such good fortune was in store,--rather the reverse. We were taken out of doors, where a guard waited to remove us to another prison. Again our hearts sank.

We crossed the street and marched westward, halting at a desolate-looking building, a few hundred yards from Libby, which we afterwards learned was "CASTLE THUNDER," the far-famed Bastile of the South. Through a guarded door we entered a reception-room and waited for some time. In this interval a fierce-looking, black-whiskered, bustling individual, who I afterwards learned was Chillis, the prison commissary, came by and, looking at us, exclaimed,--

"Bridge-burners, are they? They ought to hang, every man of them; so ought everybody who does anything against the Confederacy." The latter proposition, with the change of one word, precisely suited my own feeling then.

Soon we were ordered up-stairs. Up we went, pa.s.sing by a room filled with a howling and yelling mult.i.tude, who made such an outrageous racket that I was compelled to put my hands to my ears. A score of voices brawled with all the power of their lungs, "Fresh fish! Fresh fish!" The same exclamations greeted every new arrival.

Here we were searched, as usual, to see if we had anything contraband, or rather, anything worth taking from us. I had obtained a large knife in Atlanta, which I managed to slip up my sleeve, and by carefully turning my arm when they felt for concealed weapons, succeeded in keeping it out of the way.

The examination over, I supposed they would put us in the bedlam we had just pa.s.sed. They did no better, for we were put into a _stall_ beside the large room. I use the word "stall" advisedly, for no other is so appropriate. It was one of a range part.i.tioned off from the room in which were the noisy miscreants, and from each other, by boards nailed to the upright timbers, with cracks wide enough to let the wind circulate freely everywhere. Most of the windows of the large room were out, which greatly increased the cold. Our stall was only eight or nine feet wide, and perhaps sixteen in length. It was perfectly bare of furniture,--not having even a bench or any means of making a fire. It was in the third story, and had one redeeming quality,--it commanded a view of the street, but there was a guard below, who had orders to shoot at any head that might be protruded from the window.

In this cheerless place our party of six, with nine Tennesseeans,--fifteen in all,--were confined during the months of December and January. The first day our spirits sank lower than ever before. All our bright hopes were dashed to the ground, and there seemed every reason to believe that we were doomed to this dreary abode for the whole duration of the war, if, indeed, we escaped sharing with our murdered friends the horrors of a scaffold. It was too disheartening for philosophy, and that day was one of the blackest gloom. We seldom spoke, and when we did, it was to denounce our own folly in suffering ourselves to be deluded to Richmond by falsehood. I cannot say at this time whether the false declaration concerning the exchange was intended to deceive or was only the result of some misunderstanding; but then we had no doubt it was deliberate treachery. Not being able to spare enough guards to make us secure, we felt that they had deceived us to this terrible prison, which we might have avoided by seizing one of the many opportunities for escape our journey afforded. But it was no use lamenting; all we could do was to register a vow never to be so deceived again. One resource remained. It was my turn to lead our devotions, which we had continued faithfully. If I ever prayed with fervor it was in this hour of disappointment and dread. I tried to roll our cares upon the Lord, and at least partly succeeded, for I rose from my knees convinced that we had one Friend who had not forsaken us, and who had often made His children rejoice in worse situations than ours. The next morning we awoke quite cheerful and nerved for any fate that might yet be in store.

The routine of prison-life here differed but little from that in Atlanta, though our condition was far less comfortable. In the morning we were taken down to the court (the building was square and built with an open s.p.a.ce in the centre) to wash, and were immediately taken back to our stall and locked up. The princ.i.p.al difference arose from our lack of fire. No other physical suffering I endured in the whole imprisonment was more intolerable than this perpetual freezing. We had no opportunity for those pleasant fireside chats which had done so much to make our days endurable in the Atlanta barracks. In their stead, as the darkness and coldness of night drew on, we were compelled to pace the floor, trying to keep warm; and, when sleep became a necessity, we would all pile down in a huddle, as pigs sometimes do, and spread over us the thin protection of our two bits of carpet. Thus we would lie until the cold could be endured no longer, then rise and resume our walk. When the weather became warmer than usual we would sleep much, to make up for wakefulness during the colder nights.

We never omitted our public prayers. For a while the crowd outside in the large room, which was composed of the very sc.u.m of Southern society, such as deserters from the army, gamblers, and cut-throats from the large cities, gave us all the annoyance in their power, by shouting all kinds of derisive epithets through the cracks in the board part.i.tion while we were kneeling; but, finding their efforts ineffectual, they finally gave over, and left us to pursue our own way in peace. We found, afterwards, when, for a short time, we were put in with them, that they respected us all the more for our perseverance.

A few days after our arrival we noticed a great stir at Libby Prison, which was in plain view. A truce-boat had arrived at the place of exchange. Soon a body of prisoners were marched up the street by us, and our four Atlanta companions with them. As they pa.s.sed by they waved their hands to us in farewell and continued their journey to freedom.

They were not disappointed, and, as I have since learned, they were soon with their friends at home. The representations made at Atlanta were true as regarded these four men; the falsehood was in making us believe that _we_ stood on the same footing. We felt glad for their sakes; but the parting, to us, was very painful, and we turned away from the window with something of the gloom that had darkened the first day of our abode in this prison.

One great privilege we had here,--a delightful oasis in the dead sameness that settled over our days. This was found in reading the daily newspapers. We were not now forbidden their perusal, and some one in the large room had always money enough to buy a paper and charity enough to lend it. As soon as we received it, all the party would gather around while it was read aloud. Each item of importance was eagerly discussed.

The news was often exciting, as the Union commander, Burnside, had just made an advance, and we breathed hearty prayers that he would be successful in reaching Richmond. Probably our enemies would, in that case, try to remove us farther South; but we had firmly resolved to escape in such a contingency or die in the attempt. We would not allow ourselves again to be moved from one prison to another without risking everything for freedom.

But soon came the sad news of Burnside's b.l.o.o.d.y repulse at Fredericksburg,--sad to us, but causing the greatest rejoicing among our enemies, who felt that they had escaped a great danger. If Union defeats diffused gloom throughout the whole of the loyal States, there was yet no place where they were so regretfully and bitterly felt as in Southern prisons.

Here I sold the hat I had obtained from Commander Wells in Atlanta, and made an effort to invest the money in books, for which I was more hungry than for bread. But the volumes I wanted were not to be found in Richmond. Chillis, the cross commissary who wished us hung on our first arrival, but who was, nevertheless, the kindest official in the prison, made the effort to obtain them; but when he failed, we took instead some very small cakes, at ten cents each. These were a great addition to our rations for a day or two.

The desire to escape once more became intense. Being in the third story, we could only get out by pa.s.sing at each door successive relays of guards, all of whom had reserves ready to co-operate with them in case of alarm. Our room was nearest the jailer's office, and on the other side there ran a row of rooms filled with all kinds of prisoners,--some held as spies and others as murderers.

The nearest of these rooms to our own was occupied by Federal soldiers accused of various offences. Captain Webster was one of these. He had on one occasion been sent to capture a notorious guerrilla captain named Simpson, who was then hiding within the Union lines. When he was found, Webster summoned him to surrender. Instead of doing so he fired his pistol and started to run, but Webster also fired and mortally wounded him.

When Webster was afterwards captured by the Confederates, he was charged with the murder of Simpson, and confined in the room next our own. He was finally hanged, but in the official report the offence was changed, in a manner not uncommon with Confederate authorities, for the more plausible one of violating his parole.

At this time Webster was very anxious for an attempt at escape. A plan was soon arranged, and the evening before Christmas selected as the time. The citizen prisoners in the room below were more favorably situated than ourselves for beginning the enterprise. We had opened secret communications with them, and the ramifications of the plot reached every room in the prison. The signal agreed upon was the cry of "fire!" When this alarm--always startling, but doubly so in a crowded prison--was given, we were to rush upon the guards and overpower them.

They only numbered about thirty, while we had over a hundred and fifty men in the plot. After capturing the guard, we still had the very serious task of getting out of the guarded and fortified city. It is not probable that a very great number could have succeeded in doing this.

That Christmas-eve was not much like Christmas at home. We made everything ready, and anxiously waited for the thrilling alarm of "fire!" which we would have echoed at the top of our voices, and then burst off the door of our stall and flung ourselves on the guard. I had no doubt that we could thus break open the strongest prison in the Confederacy; but as to any large number escaping to the Union lines I was less confident. The hours rolled on and midnight came,--the hour fixed for the attack. But we waited in vain. No signal was given. The inmates in the room below had failed in courage at the critical moment and resolved to postpone the attempt.

Not yet discouraged, we determined to make another trial the very next night. Captain Webster was appointed leader, as we felt sure that he would not falter. The locks were taken off all the side rooms except ours, which was so near the station of the guard that it could not be removed without great danger of discovery. We cared but little for this.

A long board which supported our water-bucket afforded a convenient battering-ram, with which we felt sure of being able to deal with our door.